Talk:Bronibor/@comment-31.10.141.218-20170126215149/@comment-31463564-20171127200349
Here's the full speech : After several minutes of forced march that raised a cloud of dust, the cries or the Decurion's and centurions finally stopped and the Vizima Regiment deployed into battle lines. Jarre panting and drinking in air like a fish saw Voivode Bronibor parading along the lines on his beautiful sorrel covered with armour plates, the Voivode was also dressed in full armour, and his armour was cover in blue though which made Bronibor look like a huge tin mackerel. ‘How are you, soldiers?’ Bronibor shouted to his men. The ranks of pikemen responded with a roar that echoed like distant thunder. ‘You’re making a lot of noise,’ the Voivode said, turning his horse and walking back down the line, ‘that means, you’re doing well. When you’re not doing well you whine and moan like old ladies. I can see from your faces that you are dying to enter the battle, that you dream to fight and cannot wait to take on the Nilfgaardians! Eh, soldiers of Vizima? Then I have good news for you! Your dreams will be fulfilled in an instant. In a short moment.’ The Pikemen murmured again. Bronibor meanwhile arrived at the end of the line, turned his horse and slowly rode back. He spoke further and tapped his baton on his decorated saddle pommel. ‘You have swallowed dust, infants, marching behind the knights! Until now, instead of glory and booty, you have been smelling horseshit! You lack power and you almost did not reach the field of honour and glory even today, slackers. But in the end you still manage to get my heartfelt congratulations. In this country, whose name I have forgotten, you can finally show your worth as soldiers. That cloud you seen in the field is the Nilfgaardian cavalry, which aims to destroy our army by attacking the flank and pushing our forces into the swamp near the river, whose name I have forgotten, too. But you famous Vizima pikemen, will defend the honour of King Foltest and Constable Natalis by filling in the gap created by our ranks. You will close the gap with your breasts, halting the Nilfgaardians charge. Rejoice, eh, comrades? Are you bursting with pride?’ Jarre, squeezing the shaft of his pike, looked around. Nothing pointed to the fact that the soldiers were happy with the prospect of the approaching fight, and if they were proud of their task, their pride was skilfully masked. Melfi, who was to his right, murmured a prayer to himself. To his left, Deuslax, an optimistic professional, sucked up snot, coughed and cursed to himself nervously. Bronibor turned his horse and straightened in the saddle. ‘I did not hear you!’ he bellowed. ‘I asked if you are fucking bursting with pride?’ This time the pikemen, seeing no other way out, roared with a loud voice that they were proud. Jarre also roared. Just like everyone else. ‘Good!’ the Voivode turned his horse to face the army. ‘Now rally! Centurions, what are you waiting for? Form a square, front row kneeling, second row remain standing! Plant your pikes! Not by this side, you idiot! Yes I’m talking to you, hairy bastard! Move closer, shoulder to shoulder! Ah, now you look terrific! Almost like you are an army!’ Jarre found himself in the second row. He pressed the butt of the pike into the ground and gripped it in fear in his sweaty hands. Melfi dimly repeated several words that were mostly related to the intimate details of the life of the Nilfgaardians, dogs, bitches, kings, constables, governors and all their mothers. The cloud in the field approached. ‘Don’t waste your farts or chattering teeth now!’ Bronibor cried. ‘You can’t use those noises to scare the Nilfgaardian horses! Let there be no mistake! Moving towards us is the Nauzicaa and Seventh Daerlan divisions, an excellent, well-trained army! They cannot be scared! They cannot be beat! You have to kill them! Raised those pikes higher!’ From the distance came the sound of hooves, still far away but growing louder. The earth began to shake. In the cloud of dust, the sun sparkled off of flashing blades. ‘You are fucking lucky, men of Vizima,’ the Voivode shouted again. ‘You are not using a normal pike but a new type which is twenty feet long! While the swords of the Nilfgaardians are only three and a half feet long. You know how to count? They know how to count too. But they think that you will not hold and show your true nature, the nature of a coward. The Black Ones are counting on those pikes hitting the ground and you men scurrying across the field like rabbits and then they can cut you down comfortably without complication. Remember , shitheads, although fear can lend your feet speed, you cannot outrun a horse. Those who want to live, who want fame and booty, will resist! Resist viciously! Resist like a wall! And keep the ranks!’ Jarre looked around. The crossbowmen that were behind the line of pikemen were already turning their cranks, within the square, halberds, javelins, spears and pitchforks were being lifted. The ground shook harder still. They could make out the black wall of the cavalry rushing towards them, and could make out individual riders. ‘Mama, mama,’ Melfi repeated with trembling lips. ‘Mama, mama...’ ‘...Fucking whoresons,’ Deuslax murmured. The rumbling increased. Jarre went to lick his lips but failed. His tongue had stopped moving, it had become strangely stiff and was a dry as sawdust. The rumbling grew louder. ‘Get ready!’ Bronibor roared, drawing his sword. ‘Put your shoulder to your neighbour! None of you go to war alone! The only cure for the fear you feel is that pike in your hands! Ready for the battle! Put the pikes into the chest of the horse! What must we do, soldiers of Vizima? That is a question?’ ‘Resist!’ the pikemen shouted in unison. ‘Resist like a wall! Keep the ranks!’ Jarre roared with everyone. From under the hooves of the approaching horses sprayed gravel and sand. The riders they carried howled like demons, waving their swords. Jarre held onto his pike, hid his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes.